“No,” she said, chuckling, “of course you don’t. Need to Know and all that.”
She looked at his face and then changed the subject.
“Maybe Tony will be called away somewhere and we can have a little time together in Munich.”
“That would be nice. Rachel, what if your husband starts looking for you and can’t find you?”
“That would be a disaster, wouldn’t it?”
She put her clothes back on as quickly as she—they—had taken them off, and left.
VIII
[ ONE ]
Kloster Grünau
Schollbrunn, Bavaria
American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1005 2 November 1945
First Sergeant Chauncey Dunwiddie and Technical Sergeant Abraham L. Tedworth had heard the Storch approaching and were waiting next to the former monastery chapel when Cronley taxied up to it.
They spotted Frade and curiosity was all over their faces.
Frade and Cronley climbed down from the airplane.
Dunwiddie softly ordered, “Ten-hut!” Both non-coms popped to attention and crisply raised their hands to their eyebrows.
“Good morning, Colonel,” Dunwiddie barked. “Good morning, Captain. Welcome home.”
Frade and Cronley returned the salute. Dunwiddie and Tedworth crisply lowered their arms and popped to parade rest.
“As you were,” Frade said. “Good morning.”
“Colonel,” Cronley said. “This is First Sergeant Dunwiddie and his field first sergeant, Technical Sergeant Tedworth.”
Frade offered them his hand.
“My name is Frade.”
“Yes, sir,” the two non-coms said in unison.
“Command of Operation Ost has been given to me,” Frade said. “So you now work for me.”
“Yes, sir,” they again said in unison.
“For the moment, Captain Cronley remains in command of the monastery. How long he will retain command depends in large measure on how much damage to our relations with General Gehlen has been caused by his taking over the interrogation of the NKGB agent.
“As you may have surmised from this odd uniform I’m wearing, I’m a Marine. In the Marine Corps, when you want the real story behind what looks like a FUBAR situation—you do know what FUBAR means, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Dunwiddie said.
“Fucked Up Beyond All Repair, sir,” Tedworth helpfully furnished.
“Correct,” Frade said. “What you do is rustle up a couple of senior non-coms and ask them what the hell’s going on, what went wrong, and what they think should be done about it. If you’re lucky, you’ll get the truth as opposed to them telling you what they think you want to hear.”
Frade pointed at Tedworth.
“You first, Sergeant. Be advised I will tolerate no bullshit.”
Tedworth, visibly uncomfortable, looked as if he was carefully considering his reply. Finally, just perceptibly, he gave a fuck it! shrug.
“Colonel, maybe Captain Cronley should have talked it over first with Colonel Mattingly and he probably should have been more tactful with Bischoff when he told him to butt out, but other than that, he was right.”
“Captain Cronley isn’t famous for his tact, is he?” Frade said, and then pointed at Dunwiddie.
“Sir, I agree with Sergeant Tedworth,” Tiny said.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Frade asked. “What is your assessment, Sergeant, of the damage Captain Cronley’s actions have had on his—which are of course our—relations with General Gehlen?”
“Sir, I don’t know.”
“What is your assessment of General Gehlen?”
“Sir, do you mean do I like him?”
“Try that.”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“But?”
“He’s a general, sir. And a German. Generals, and maybe especially German generals, don’t like having their decisions, their orders, questioned. Particularly by junior officers.”
“But?”
“That’s it, Colonel.”
“Where is the Russian?”
“In his cell, sir.”
“And General Gehlen?”
“He’s in his office, sir.”
Frade pointed at Tedworth.
“You will take me to the Russian.”
“Yes, sir.”
He pointed to Dunwiddie.
“You will present my compliments to General Gehlen. You will ask him if it will be convenient for him to meet with me in Captain Cronley’s office after I’ve spoken to the Russian.”
“Yes, sir.”
Frade pointed to Cronley.
“You will go to your quarters and await my pleasure.”
“Yes, sir.”
[ TWO ]
Office of the Commanding Officer
XXIIIrd CIC Detachment
Kloster Grünau
Schollbrunn, Bavaria
American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1025 2 November 1945
The office was furnished with a desk, on which sat two telephones—an ornate German instrument and a U.S. Army EE-8 field telephone—a typewriter, an ashtray made from a bent Planters peanuts can, a White Owl cigar box, and a box of large wooden matches.
There was a wooden office chair on wheels behind the desk. Two similar chairs without wheels were in front of it.
Former Generalmajor Reinhard Gehlen, who had on an ill-fitting, well-worn gray tweed suit, sat in one of the latter. He rose to his feet as Frade walked through the door that Sergeant Tedworth held open for him.
“General Gehlen?” Frade asked.
“I am Gehlen.”
“My name is Frade, General,” he said, offering the slight man his hand. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“I am pleased to finally meet you, Colonel Frade.”
“Sergeant, please rustle up some coffee and maybe a couple of doughnuts for myself and the general, and then leave us alone.”
“Coming right up, sir,” Tedworth said.
Frade went behind the desk and sat down.
“We have a problem, General. But I think before we get into that, I should tell you why I said ‘we.’ For a number of reasons, including credible deniability, it has been decided to transfer command of Operation Ost to me. That’s effective this morning.”
Gehlen nodded but didn’t speak.
An inner door opened. Cronley was standing in it.
“Colonel, I thought I should tell you that when I’m in my quarters I can hear whatever is said in here.”
Frade considered his options for a moment and then said, “Take a seat.”
“Yes, sir,” Cronley said, and then sat in the chair across from Gehlen.
“Guten Morgen, Herr General.”
“Guten Morgen, Jim.”
“One might get the idea from that cordial, informal exchange, General,” Frade said, “that you and Captain Cronley have developed a personal as well as a professional relationship.”
“I think we have,” Gehlen said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Jim?”
Before Cronley could reply, Frade went on: “And that hasn’t changed in the last couple of days?”
“Because of Major Bischoff, you mean?”
“That’s your interrogation expert?”
“Yes.”
“Then because of what happened between Captain Cronley and your major.”
“I think, Colonel, that when I hear Captain Cronley’s version of the dispute, and weigh it against Bischoff’s, Bischoff’s far greater experience in these matters will be evident. But that certainly won’t cause me to dislike Jim.”
“You haven’t heard Cronley’s version?”
“I was going to ask him about it today.”<
br />
“Tell the general what you have been thinking, Captain Cronley,” Frade ordered.
“I offered Major Orlovsky a deal, General,” Cronley began.
“Based on his extensive experience in these matters, of course,” Frade said sarcastically. “And his very fertile imagination.”
The appearance of Sergeant Tedworth, carrying two coffee mugs and a plate of doughnuts, caused Cronley, at the last possible split second, not to say what had leapt to his lips.
Thank God!
Telling Clete to go fuck himself would have been really stupid. He couldn’t let me get away with it in front of Gehlen, and Gehlen wouldn’t like it either.
It would be one more proof for both of them that while Little Jimmy Cronley might be a nice boy, even a bright nice boy, that’s all he is, and thus any ideas he has are beneath the consideration of Frade, Gehlen, Bischoff and Company, the Wise Old Men of Kloster Grünau.
“We’re waiting, Captain Cronley,” Frade said.
Try to sound like a fellow intelligence professional. Use big words.
“When I realized that Major Bischoff’s deprivation of senses and humiliation tactics of interrogation were not working on Major Orlovsky, and actually were counterproductive—Orlovsky has resigned himself to being shot—I decided something else had to be done.
“‘What does this skilled NKGB officer want? What can I give him to get those names?’
“The answer was hope.”
“I don’t understand,” Gehlen said.
“I told him, General, that if he turned, I would move him to Argentina, and once he was there, if he gave us the names of your people that he has turned, I would get you to get his family out of Russia.”
The eyebrows on Gehlen’s normally expressionless face rose.
“I see what you mean about a fertile imagination,” he said.
“I went to see Major Orlovsky just now, General,” Frade said. “I walked into his cell, gave him a moment to wonder who I might be, and then said, ‘Well, Major, have you decided whether or not you want to go to Argentina?’”
“And?” Gehlen asked.
“What would you have expected his reaction to be, General?” Frade asked.
Gehlen considered the question for a moment before replying.
“I would guess that he wouldn’t reply at all,” Gehlen said. “Or that he would appear to play along, to see what he might learn.”
“What he did, General, was lose control. And if he was acting, he’s a better actor than John Barrymore.”
“He lost control?”
“Only for a moment, but in that moment, his chest heaved, he sobbed, and his eyes teared.”
“Interesting,” Gehlen said, softly and thoughtfully.
“He quickly regained control, but for a moment he had lost it.”
“And what did he say?”
“When he thought he had his voice—and himself—under control, he said, ‘Until you walked in here, Colonel, I really thought your young captain was desperately reaching for straws.’”
“Go on, please,” Gehlen said.
“I suppose,” Frade said, “I should’ve walked in there at least considering the possibility that my young captain had actually cracked Orlovsky—but I didn’t. So, I said the only thing I could think of: ‘Answer my question, Major Orlovsky.’”
“And?” Gehlen said softly.
“He said, ‘It is possible, unlikely but possible, that we might be able to work something out.’ To which I cleverly replied, ‘We’ll talk more about working something out,’ and left.”
Gehlen shook his head in disbelief, smiled, and said, “Jim, I underestimated you.”
“It would appear we both did,” Frade said.
“When I tell Konrad Bischoff this—if I tell him—he’ll be devastated,” Gehlen said, smiling. “I’m afraid he was looking happily forward to Jim getting his comeuppance from Colonel Mattingly.”
“You’re saying you think we can strike a deal with Orlovsky?” Frade asked.
“I think we would be foolish not to look very carefully at that possibility, no matter how remote it sounds.”
“General, I happily defer to your greater expertise,” Frade said. “Would you do that for us, sir? Lay it out?”
“Very well,” Gehlen said. “Simply, what we have is a skilled NKGB agent now in possession of information regarding Operation Ost that we cannot permit him to pass on to his superiors. What we want from him are the names of those of my people he’s turned. Now, what are we willing to pay for that information?”
Cronley began, “Sir—”
“Just sit there,” Frade snapped.
“Colonel, may I suggest that Cronley has earned the right to comment?” Gehlen said.
“Make it quick, Jimmy.”
“I was about to suggest that if we can turn him, he’s got more to tell us than the names of the Germans he’s turned.”
“True. But I suggest we’re getting a bit ahead of where we should be,” Gehlen said.
“Go ahead, General, please,” Frade said. “Cronley will hold any further comments he might wish to offer until you’re through.”
Gehlen nodded. “Colonel, can you make good on the promise to take him to Argentina?”
“Qualified answer, General: Yes, but there are problems with that.”
“Let’s proceed with your ability to get him there, and deal with the problems later. The next question is: ‘Would it be worth the risk to my agents in place for them to try to get his family out of Russia?’ The answer to that, too, has to be qualified.
“Simple answer, yes. If we don’t get the names of the people Orlovsky—or perhaps someone else in the NKGB—has turned, they can cause enormous damage. So, if you agree, Colonel Frade, what I suggest we do is accept that the information Orlovsky has is worth his price. You will establish a new life for him in Argentina and I will attempt to get his family out of Russia. What are the problems you see?”
“I hardly know where to begin,” Frade said. “There’s a number of them. Perhaps the greatest of them is that if I went to Admiral Souers with this—you know he’s the ultimate authority?”
Gehlen nodded.
“I don’t think he’d give me permission to do it. So far, he doesn’t even know we have Orlovsky. It almost came out at dinner last night, but the conversation went off at a tangent when Colonel Schumann regaled everyone with his descriptions of Sergeant Dunwiddie and his ferocious fellows, and the subject of NKGB penetration of Kloster Grünau got lost. Fortunately.”
“I’m surprised Colonel Mattingly didn’t bring Orlovsky to everyone’s attention,” Gehlen said. It was a question as well as a statement.
“So was I,” Frade said. “I’m guessing he wanted to dump the problem in my lap. He would have preferred to hang Jimmy out to dry, but right now Admiral Souers—and for that matter, the President—think Cronley can walk on water. So that would be risky.”
“Do you think you could go to Admiral Souers and argue the merits of taking Orlovsky to Argentina?”
“No, I don’t,” Frade said simply. “He would decide the risk to what I’ve got going in Argentina would be too great. And he’d probably be right. Which means that we’re going to have to keep both Mattingly and the admiral in the dark about this operation.”
“One, you’re willing to do that? Two, can you do that? And, three, if you can do it, for how long?”
“I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to protect Operation Ost. As far as keeping how I do that from the admiral and Mattingly, all I can do is hope that when they finally find out—and they will—it will be a done deal.
“Now, for obvious reasons, we can’t just add Orlovsky to our family of refugees in Argentina . . .”
“Obvious reasons?” Gehlen asked.
“Before this in
teresting development came up, General, I was going to come see you with this”—he took an envelope from his tunic and handed it to Gehlen—“with the compliments of Oberst Otto Niedermeyer.”
“I’ve been expecting this,” Gehlen said.
“What is it?” Cronley asked.
“Why do I suspect, General Gehlen,” Frade asked, smiling, “that you and Oberst Niedermeyer have a communications link I’m not supposed to know about?”
Gehlen smiled back. “Because you have a naturally suspicious mind. Which is very useful in our line of endeavor.”
“What is that?” Cronley asked again.
And was ignored again.
“And,” Gehlen went on, “possibly because Otto tells me that, for an Anglican, you have an unusually close relationship with a certain Jesuit priest and he told you.”
Frade laughed. “No comment.”
“You’re wondering why Otto sent this with you, rather than using this communications link you suspect us of having?”
“Yeah.”
“Because if he used—what should I say?—the Vatican channel, not only that Jesuit but others would have read it. There are some things we prefer not to share with Holy Mother Church.”
“Shame on you,” Frade said.
Gehlen and Frade were smiling at each other.
Gehlen has smiled more in this room in the last twenty minutes than in all the time I’ve known him.
And cracked jokes.
They just met and they’re already buddies.
Even if Niedermeyer got word to Gehlen that he thinks Clete is a good guy, that wouldn’t have made them pals.
They’re kindred souls . . . what else could it be?
“What the hell is that?” Cronley asked for the third time.
Gehlen looked at Frade, who nodded his permission.
“Jim, it’s a list of the Nazis who SS-Oberst Niedermeyer thinks would cause us the greatest embarrassment if the Russians could prove they’re here at Kloster Grünau. And a list of my people, some of them here, some in Argentina, who Niedermeyer suspects have already been turned or, in his judgment, are likely to turn if properly approached.”
“What are you going to do about them? The people who have been turned?” Cronley asked.
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